Answer
by deepinspace
Summary: When you are 18, the world looks alot different from then when you were 16. A short take on RoyEd, AUish


Should have been studying for the exams, and not watching FMA, gahh! My first RoyEd, enjoy and do leave me your comments! Thank you!

Disclaimer: Full Metal Alchemist belongs to Hiromu Arakawa & Square Enix. I gain no profit through this. Answer is a song from PIERROT, all credits go to the band.

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**Answer**

By Rixiel

When you are 18, the world looks a lot different from then when you were 16. It is not exactly worse, but not especially promising either. You wonder where has all these years of journeying taken you, and you start to realize despite how much you hate going back to report yet another dead end, another failed attempt, to see that superior smirk and face his merciless teasing, he has offered you a place to return to.

It may not be that cozy house like Winry's, in fact it is a cold space, with polished furniture, stiff blue uniforms and a whole lot of formalities. But there are warm smiles beneath these, coffee without milk and the expensive black sofa feels wonderful to sink into after all the time spent traveling. It is nothing like the home you once had, a haven that is now nothing but a pile of charred ash and memories you force yourself not to forget.

The smugness in that silky velvet voice never fails to annoy you, but you note that there's a familiarity in that voice and how easily your name rolls from those lips. You are not some stranger or "the Elric Brothers", you are "Ed" and it is strangely comforting. There is the usual bickering and it makes you feel alive, makes you forget the stony formalities that strangers offer or the hate in their voices when they discover you are nothing but the military's dog.

When you are 19, and having accidentally stumbled into a city that was not in his intended map for you, you realize that you are not just a pawn in his game, you are the piece that he kept safely tucked away. You look at the heaps of bodies rotting in the scorching sun and it makes you sick when the crows swoop down to feast. You hold your breath as you try to find your way out of this death valley, but the smell of flesh burning still filter through anyways.

At last you crawled out of that hell and you find a carriage coming for you, with a worried Armstrong, food, drinks and blankets in it. You stare blankly outside, ignoring the concern stares from Armstrong. Al's metal grip is cool, just like the tears that are running down the side of your cheeks. You hurl incoherent curses at Mustang, cursed him for thinking you as weak, that you were something that needed sheltering. But most of all, you hated yourself for being so naive and that you had been so carefully protected all these while.

That day, you insisted that you did not need the rest, struggling against Al who is holding you down and almost close to strapping you into bed. You demanded to be brought to Mustang. Finally Al relented and you are before Mustang but all you can do is stand there and stare at him with a whirl of emotions in your head that you cannot comprehend them. Everything became black then.

You find him in the bar alone the night after, and you stand awkwardly around, unsure of what to do until he motions you to sit and orders you a glass of that brown liquid which you finish in a gulp.

At 19, ironically, after your first taste of alcohol, the bitter after taste burning in your throat, you start to see one thing clearer. That you were in love with him all these years and you had been oblivious to all that he had given you.

He touches you gently on the back of your palm and you shiver at that spark from the bare contact of skin. You brush his fingers away roughly, clutching your palm with your auto-mail, breath ragged and body shaking.

Your mind is a mesh of emotions again and while you are working it out, your body betrays you first. You are kissing him fervently and blindly, pulling him close to you. You do not know what you are doing but he shows you, hands coming to the rest behind your head and neck, kneading softly as his lips devour yours.

When you finally part, your saliva is on his lips and his uneven breathe washes over your face. He watches you carefully, his expression guarded. You feel disappointed, but you have enough of being treated like some porcelain. You are not that 15 year old brat anymore, you show him just that and feel his smile melt against your lips.

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**End **

2 August 2005

Thanks for reading :D


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